Regret
by XxFatallyVenomousxX
Summary: Sad little one-shot ;-;


**Guys, me and my muse are generally very happy and joyful people. But, sometimes, we just get DEPRESSED. The result? This. A suggestion: Read this while listening to Everytime by Britney Spears. It is a very SAD SONG D': Well, don't cry!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own soul eater or everytime by britney spears**

I sat on the floor of my room, rubbing my finger on the pale carpet. I have to do this sooner or later. I have to. I stand up and open my door hesitantly. The light footsteps that I always listen for are never here. The soft music is never playing anymore. The subtle, indescribable scent has long since faded.

I walk down the hall and stop outside her door. My bad, _the _door. I place my hand on the doorknob, and turn it. It opens and I step inside of Maka's room. The room. It has been vacant for two moths, yet it's the first time I've set foot in here since. The bed is neatly made, book on nightstand, computer gathering dust. I walk carefully around her things, scared to touch anything.

I stop in front of her bed. The blanket is cold, and the pillow is stiff. Her book is sitting right where she left it, that night. Her last night. Tears sting at my eyes. I breathe in and exhale. I can do this. I turn to her bookshelf, where the thick Webster dictionary stands out. The aches have disappeared from my skull, but now I missed it.

A glittery, pink spiral notebook is sitting on her computer desk. I pick it up and stare at the cover. A small drop of water falls onto it. I flip it over and see 'Maka Albarn' written in neat script. I bite my lip and open it to the first page.

_May 12_

_Today Soul and I collected the Kishin soul number seventy nine. Only twenty left. Then Soul will be a Death Scythe and he'll become a Death Scythe, even better than Papa. Though, I don't know how that will turn out when he does. He'll never be home, and I'm sure would much rather be one of the prettier, bustier girls' scythe. I wonder why he's even stuck around this long. It's so pointless. Why would he pick his meister to be a flat chested bookworm like me? I'm sure one of his curvy fangirls would be more than happy to make him their scythe. I wish he knew how I felt. Soul probably wouldn't care though, and laugh, saying I'm just Tiny Tits Maka. I want to tell him, but I'm not pretty enough for someone like Soul._

I almost drop her diary. Why would she even…

_June 9_

_Soul walked in on me while I was changing today. I nearly died. Too bad he had nothing to look at, not me and my flat chest. I wish he knew that I liked him, even though it would probably kill our relationship as partners. I bet he thought of it as nothing, and forgot about it five minutes later. I wish, I wish he liked me back. I want to tell him, but I'm not pretty enough for someone like Soul._

I very distinctly remember that day. I went into her room, about to ask her what she wanted to eat, but when I did, she had on a skirt and a bra. She looked so pretty, but I knew if I told her, she'd Maka Chop me. If I only knew she felt the same…

_July 13_

_Me and Soul went to the movies today, but we went with Black Star, Tsubaki, Kid, Liz and Patti. I wish we would have gone alone, because Black Star wouldn't shut up, which kind of made it pointless to watch the remade _Titanic, _if Black Star laughed when Jack died. And Kid wouldn't shut up about how the boat was asymmetrical, even though it looked pretty dang symmetrical to me. Then Patti kept talking about the giraffe on the soda cup, advertising one of the Madagascar movies. Soul didn't even look at me during the movie, so I guess that just proves everything. I want to tell him, but I'm not pretty enough for someone like Soul._

I remember watching the Titanic. I had forced myself not to look at her during the movie, because I wanted to kiss her so badly, it was painful. I couldn't read anything more. I put her diary back and cried, cried because I was so stupid, cried because I didn't tell her, and cried for the dead girl I loved, who was six feet under.

She was going to be six feet under, instead of beside me, because I didn't tell her. I didn't tell her she was beautiful, I didn't tell her I didn't care that she was flat chested, and I didn't tell her that I love her.

I remember the funeral, watching everybody speak for her, watching the preacher say the prayers, watching the grave become hers. I remember the tears, the cries, the heartbreak. I remember getting the news, I remember the denial, I remember not being able to look into her eyes. I remember not being able to say goodbye.

**So? What did you think? Please tell me and review!**


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